Chương 28: Blood on the Waves

We walked toward the port still half in denial, feet dragging as if the stones themselves were trying to hold us back from this cursed contract. No one spoke much. Every face wore the same bitter mask... the look of men who had just been dragged into a fight they never wanted, yet could not escape because of the exorbitant release fee looming on our clouded minds. When we finally reached the port of Athenae, my breath caught in my throat in disbelief. The harbor was vast beyond anything I had imagined.

Hundreds upon hundreds of ships and galleys filled the blue waters, their masts rising like a forest of spears against the sky. Massive trading vessels with colorful sails stood shoulder to shoulder with sleek warships, fishing boats, and strange foreign designs I had never seen before. The air was thick with the smell of salt, tar, fish, and fresh timber, while the constant clamor of creaking wood, shouted orders, rattling chains, and rolling barrels filled the busy docks.

Galer walked beside me, eyes wide with the same astonishment at this captivating port.

"This is my first time seeing so many different ships and galleys gathered in one place," he muttered, voice low with awe.

"Athenae really is something else…" Our group was directed toward one vessel that stood out from all the rest. It was a colossal war galley adorned with beautiful white marble accents along its hull and blue-tinted lines on its upper decks forming the ship's crest, giving it an almost regal, majestic appearance for royal usage. The ship was clearly built to carry an entire royal army... easily a thousand soldiers, a true warship through and through, from its reinforced ram to its towering sails.

Its size and craftsmanship left everyone mesmerized. Even the most hardened mercenaries paused for a moment, staring up at the elegant yet deadly vessel gleaming under the sun like a floating fortress. We got boarded by the security as Group 1, 102 men strong. Not long after, Group 2 arrived with 65 additional fighters, and the final group brought 44. It was immediately obvious that those two groups contained much more powerful individuals than ours. Their Animo presence radiated like heat from a forge...

stronger, sharper, more confident. Our own group had solid fighters too, but next to them we felt… lesser. Then the ship's permanent crew appeared on deck: forty disciplined soldiers already in position, along with the butler Lümens and the ship's captain. The captain was a man around sixty years old, with tanned white skin, white hair receding at the front, and a small pipe clenched between his teeth, thin smoke curling lazily into the sea breeze.

He wore a stylish hat tilted sideways, the kind favored by bold sea captains of certain western lands, with a wide brim and a single yellow feather tucked into the band, giving him a roguish, experienced air. His name was Róugal, and when he opened his mouth, a thick pirate-like accent rolled out like thunder.

"Yarrrr! You cunty ones be ready for a dousey one! Our galley Magda gets ready for another sailing, yaarrrrr!" He grinned with a perverted, excited smile I had never seen before, eyes sparkling with pure, almost childish joy at the prospect of danger and bloodshed, because he knew exactly where we were going. The butler quickly pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the captain's mouth, but Róugal waved it away with a booming laugh and kept grinning like a madman.

The journey to Melita, one of the bigger island of the Mare Nostrum, had begun. From the top deck, one of the sailors shouted down, "No rain for today! And even better captain, the night after will be quite fun!" The galley surged forward with surprising speed, powered by the trained and disciplined crew who seemed to genuinely enjoy the voyage. Smaller groups formed across the deck, men laughing, sharing stories, and passing around drinks of ale or booze.

We sailed with smiles on our faces, masking the dread of heading straight into the jaws of death just to keep our minds occupied. While the ship cut cleanly through the waves, I turned to Galer and asked about the Silver Egg, that he had mentioned. Galer explained calmly, "It's a golden-colored egg laid by the Ogreclops for their children to feast upon." I interrupted, confused.

"Wait… golden… yet it's called a Silver Egg?" Galer pointed toward the endless horizon.

"Wait and listen. You'll understand soon enough." He continued, "The egg is made from their own biosystem, one type for breeding, another for laying to help their young. Ogreclops do not stay on the island after breeding for long. They are not pack animals or family-oriented like others. They prefer to live as individuals, in smaller roaming groups. The children have the hardest time because they start completely alone.

Mother Nature, in her strange mercy, gave them the ability to lay these special eggs so the young can feed on them. It has been said, and recorded in ancient texts, that the egg can help anyone who is ill, gravely injured, or even standing at death's door to make an instantaneous, miraculous comeback." I whistled softly.

"Wow… a golden egg with so many positive benefits. Anyone would go crazy for it." Galer nodded, his expression turning grim.

"But there are strict rules woven into it by Mother Nature herself. The egg has a very short lifespan once removed from the island, only one to ten minutes, and then it melts away into nothing. Others have tried freezing it, preserving it with advanced technology, or even manipulating time itself, but the rules still apply. Nature takes its cruel course and the egg degrades into a useless puddle. That is why it is called the Silver Egg.

It is a powerful vitality booster, but only truly useful on the island of Melita. Its usage is very limited there. Anyone foolish enough to try building a city or settlement on the island during breeding season has always met with disaster. The females go completely mad, searching for a strong male to mate with, and any group that gets in the way gets squashed." We both stared out at the rolling sea. The endless waves crashed against the hull with a rhythm that felt almost mocking...

indifferent to the fear churning in our chests. A heavy silence settled between us, broken only by the creak of wood and the distant cries of seabirds. I could feel the weight of everything pressing down: Husher's sacrifice, our broken promise to the children, the impossible power of the blue-horned monster, and now this suicidal voyage toward an island crawling with water demons during breeding season. My restored arm clenched at my side, but it brought no comfort.

For the first time in a long while, doubt gnawed at the small flame inside me. Galer's jaw was tight, his eyes distant as he gripped the railing. The wind tugged at his hair, but he didn't seem to notice. In that shared silence, I knew we were thinking the same thing: we were sailing toward something far beyond our current strength, yet turning back was no longer an option.

"So we are sailing straight into such dangers," I said quietly.

"We will dash the moment we find a way out, get presumed dead, and slip away to a different location as mercenaries." Galer let out a long sigh.

"Athenae looked so good and prosperous… but that's better than dying for this lot." The journey continued. We met a few other members here and there, exchanging wary nods. Night fell, and we slept in the lower barracks, the constant rocking of the ship lulling us into uneasy dreams. The next day we covered such a vast distance that only endless ocean surrounded us and a hot, breaching sun beat down on our necks, broken only by schools of strange sea creatures swimming alongside the hull.

Suddenly Captain Róugal's voice boomed across the deck like cannon fire.

"Yarrrr! Welcome to the first wave, lads! The Ogreclops that already finished their breeding season are back on the Mare Nostrum. Good news, these are young ones, only 22 of them!" And then we saw them for the first time. A terrifying sight emerged from the waves: 2 - to 6-meter-tall monsters with long, slinky, wet bodies that moved with unnatural speed, easily keeping pace with our fast galley and sometimes even outswimming it.

Their powerfully muscled frames were covered in pale grayish-green stretched skin, dotted with hundreds of glowing, unblinking eyes scattered across their torso, arms, legs, and neck. A single large blood-red central eye dominated their small head, positioned above a wide, jagged-toothed mouth that dripped thick saliva. Long clawed arms lashed out with disturbing speed and near-omnidirectional vision. These young ones fought like Wutta-level monsters, each possessing roughly 2, 100 Animo.

One soldier scanned them with his trained reading eyes and shouted the readings. The battle exploded across the waves. We attacked them simultaneously from multiple ships. The Ogreclops met us with savage fury. Their hundreds of glowing eyes allowed them to see every angle at once, no blind spots, no hesitation. They punched with terrifying speed, their long clawed arms whipping through the air like living battering rams.

One soldier was struck square in the chest and flew backward, crashing into the railing with a sickening crack. Kicks from their powerful legs shattered wooden planks and sent men tumbling into the sea. They defended with brutal intelligence, twisting their bodies in ways that seemed impossible, countering strikes before we even finished swinging. It was like facing twenty Wuttas at once in sheer strength comparison. Their near-perfect vision made every feint useless.

They anticipated attacks from above, below, and every side. Claws tore through armor and flesh with horrifying ease. Some of our men were ripped under water the instant the monsters boarded, their screams cut short by jaws that clamped down like iron traps. Others were torn in half mid-swing, blood spraying across the deck in gruesome arcs. Yet we fought back with everything we had. Swords flashed, spears thrust, and arrows rained down.

Galer and I held our section of the railing, slashing and dodging as best we could. The monsters' speed was monstrous, they would leap from the water, land on the deck with a heavy thud, and immediately spin to face threats from all directions. One Ogreclops nearly took my head off with a sweeping claw strike; I barely ducked in time, feeling the wind of its passing cut across my scalp. Captain Róugal was in his element.

The old pirate laughed like a madman as he leaped into the fray, his weathered face split by a wild, toothless grin. With a thunderous roar that rivaled the crashing waves, he charged one of the towering Ogreclops head-on. The beast swung a massive clawed arm, but Róugal ducked under it with surprising agility for his age and clapped both hands around the monster's thick neck. The impact sounded like thunder cracking across the deck.

Muscles bulging, veins standing out like ropes, he lifted the massive creature off its feet and slammed it down with raw, unbridled strength. Bones shattered. The Ogreclops thrashed wildly, but Róugal kept pounding it, bare fists cracking against its skull until the beast stopped moving entirely. Still roaring with manic joy, he reached into his pants and pulled out a long, dark bottle of foamy alcoholic ale. Without missing a beat, he popped the cork with his teeth and gulped it down in one long, greedy swig.

Foam spilled over his beard as his cheeks flushed a deep, drunken red. The strong drink hit him instantly, making him sway slightly, but it only fueled his tipsy, wild excitement even more. His glee was contagious and terrifying at the same time... a mad, alcohol-fueled frenzy that made even hardened mercenaries cheer while feeling a chill run down their spines. The fight dragged on for what felt like an eternity. Bodies hit the water. Blood stained the waves.

In the end, we killed every juvenile without letting a single one escape. Seeing so many strong individuals fighting side by side gave us a small spark of hope. Galer and I stayed on the side of the ship, defending our line the entire time. After the battle, the deck workers scrubbed the blood from the planks. With slightly renewed, if fragile hope, we sailed onward. We were attacked again and again over the following days. Sometimes one man fell, sometimes three.

In total we lost 29 from our combined groups, plus one of their soldier who had been peeing off the side of the ship the previous night and was suddenly gobbled up from the ocean below, dragged screaming into the depths. The rest of us could only smirk bitterly at the absurdity of it all, though the professional soldiers were visibly displeased at the confirmed loss. Still, they remained a tight, unbreakable unit, defending key areas without ever taking a single step back.

After three more days of sailing and fighting, four days in total, we finally reached the island. By the time we set foot on Melita, our three separate groups had merged into one battered force of 182 mercenaries. The forty professional soldiers stood apart, still pristine and disciplined, having lost only a single man during the entire voyage. Together we numbered 221 souls weary, bloodied, but alive... ready to begin the hunt for Her Royalty. Our search for Kriemhild had begun.